Legs
by THEdragon-of-rainbows
Summary: A rather short oneshot about Homsar, based on one of my unusual headcanons. Homsar silently thinks about his own-dang-self down at the race track, and the ways in which he differs from Homestar.


Large feet pounded away at the racetrack with steps that were both powerful and heavy and light and nimble simultaneously. The athlete Homestar Runner zipped up, down and around the track like nobody's business, with such an unaffected expression that one would think he didn't even realise he was exerting himself. Standing beside the track, as usual, was Coach Z. He'd been Homestar's coach since the athlete was just a blissful little short-legged kid with an awkward taste in clothing.

Coach Z felt little or no need to acknowledge the presence of Homsar beside him, as the bowler-hat-wearing fellow spoke no words, nor caused any commotion, just simply stood and watched on. Of course, Coach Z couldn't help but wonder what was going on in Homsar's mind at that moment, or what had brought him here. The strange fellow had never seemed to show any interest in the race track or anything of an athletic nature since the complete flop that was the Strong Badathlon, or even prior to the event.

Homsar watched Homestar speed up and down and all around the racetrack. He knew he could never be a terrific athlete like Homestar. Not that it really bothered him, as he was more slow-paced in nature and had different interests, but here of all places it was most clear how physically different the two really were. Homestar was tall, slim, fast and long-legged. Homsar was short, pudgy, short-legged and not very athletic. He had, however, played for Team Kneepads some time ago, but his only redeeming talent on the court was his loose grasp on physics, which could sometimes work to his advantage. Homsar's physique wasn't the only thing restraining him from the athletic potential his red-shirted counterpart possessed, it was also his legs.

It had already been established that Homsar was short-legged for his kind, but the way his feet pointed inwards was also not considered all that normal either. Homsar had been born pigeon-toed, with unusually formed legs. His slow-moving but quick-footed shuffle was the only gait he knew of, he couldn't run or skip or prance. It wasn't much but it was something, especially considering his parents had been told by doctors on more than one occasion that their little son would never walk. But Homsar showed them. He showed them all. He was not going to let crooked legs get the best of him, he got up onto his pigeon-toed feet and made the most of the legs he had. Still, Homsar admired Homestar's athletic outstanding ability, the talent that seemed to compensate his dull-wittedness.

With a rush of air that rustled the abundant green grass around the track, Homestar ran his final lap with ease. Hardly out of breath, he slowed down to a walking pace and strolled over Coach Z, giving Homsar an indifferent glance along the way. As the athlete and the coach commenced their conversation on the day's efforts, Homsar supposed it would be best to leave them both to it, to leave them to their own business and return to his own. Perhaps one day Homestar would have the patience to maintain a conversation with him. Homsar hobbled away from the track, deciding not to think too much into it any more. As far as they knew, he had simply come, seen, and left with no further context or explanation, but Homsar had really had a chance to reflect. For a moment he could have sworn he still retained memories from his infancy. Memories of his parents' dismay when they came to realise their beloved child would never walk on his own. Memories of their awe and joy when he defied the very words those medical professionals had sworn were his fate, in his own odd little way.

From time to time Homsar would wonder what it would be like if he had been lucky enough to grow up with those kind of powerful runner legs, to be able to sprint down the track, prance through the field with ease, or stride past the stick with big, slow steps. It was very likely that he'd never know, and just as likely that no-one would ever know what Homsar knew about himself, and the waddling shuffle he had been so proud to develop in his youth. In the end it didn't really matter, after all, Homsar and Homestar were two different people, with similar faces but different interests, and he didn't want to compare them too much.


End file.
